


stay

by a_stankova



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, an almost established relationship, kind of ooc?, soft!eve, soft!villanelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_stankova/pseuds/a_stankova
Summary: A tiny glimpse into what Eve and Villanelle's relationship could be like.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 10
Kudos: 227





	stay

“Villanelle?”

Eve’s mouth falls open, her stunned voice barely registering with Villanelle, who lies curled up in the middle of Eve’s bed, clutching the chocolate brown pillow to her heaving chest, her whole body trembling.

Eve observes disbelievingly, wonders if she has stepped inside a strange dream. She hasn’t seen Villanelle for days – last she’d heard, she’d been in Bordeaux on another contract kill – and she certainly hadn’t been expecting to see her tonight: her Tesco shopper bag consists of one microwave meal, two bottles of wine and several bars of chocolate. She’d planned on having a bath and getting an early night after another long day of pouring over information about the Twelve. 

Apparently not, however. With her plans thwarted, Eve drops her bags onto the kitchen table, her frown growing deeper as she looks at Villanelle. It is quite…uncomfortable, to see the woman like this. Small, vulnerable, without that chilling mask of hers.

It uneases Eve.

“Hey,” Eve calls out softly, padding forwards until she is standing by the bed, bathed in the dull orange glow of the bedside lamp. She looks at Villanelle’s wet, puffy cheeks, her red-rimmed eyes, her glossy lips; on further inspection, she notices that the other woman clings tighter to the pillow in her trembling fingers whenever a hefty sob wracks her shoulder blades. 

Villanelle does not look up, adamant not to make eye contact with her. It makes Eve’s chest hurt.

“What happened?” she asks her, so softly it is almost a whisper. Villanelle sniffs and squeezes her eyes shut, as if physically closing the question out. She nuzzles into the pillow the way a child would its mother, or a lover would their significant other. She doesn’t speak.

Eve fears briefly that if Villanelle _were_ to speak, she may break down. Her urge to help grows tenfold.

“Villanelle,” Eve says firmly, lifting her knees up to kneel on the mattress beside her. “Tell me what happened.”

Villanelle’s eyes flutter open then, but still she does not look at Eve. Instead, she glares at Eve’s legs, eyebrows narrowed. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse, and it shakes with anger, and pain.

“Leave me alone.”

Eve rolls her eyes. “You’re in _my_ bed, remember? And no. I won’t leave you alone. Not until you talk.”

“Don’t push me,” Villanelle growls, her facade crumbling with the single tear that slips down her cheek as she tries, ardently, to be angry. “You know what I’m capable of.”

And yes, Eve does know. But she also knows that this is Villanelle’s mask – her way of protecting herself, probably the only way she knows how to react to emotional situations. Eve might not know a lot about Villanelle – about her past before prison, about her family or what had shaped her – but Eve knows who she is now, knew her before she even met her.

Reaching out cautiously, Eve places a hand on Villanelle’s wrist, and locks her fingers around it. Villanelle jerks almost immediately, tries to pull out of Eve’s grasp, and Eve lets her. Lets her feel like she’s on control, that it’s on her own terms what she decides to do next. Eve understands that, withdraws her hand with a gentle sigh, patient.

“Let me help you, sweetie.”

“Go away, Eve. I’m not in the mood.”

Sighing again, Eve stands from the bed, folding her arms. “Fine. I guess I’ll make us something to eat. I hope you like microwave meals.”

No reply.

“Microwave meal it is. It’s the shitty value kind, too, you’re going to love it. There are towels in the bathroom if you wanna shower, and the top drawer over there has my loosest fitting clothes if you’re changing.”

Just as Eve turns to walk to the kitchen, a small, broken word sounds behind her. It might’ve been her name. It catches Eve’s attention but she doesn’t turn around. She hears Villanelle clear her throat behind her.

“Eve, I don’t need a shower, or clean clothes or a fucking towel.”

“I was just being a good host.”

“Well I don’t need them.”

Eve swears she notes emphasis on the ‘them’, so turns around, her eyes wide, waiting. “Then what? You come into my house, get into _my_ bed and I’m just supposed to – what, ignore you?”

“Eve–”

“Are you ill?” Eve blows out a breath, her frustration finally taking over. “Are you hurt? I do actually care, despite the fact that you’re a giant asshole, but I swear, if you’ve got blood on my sheets I’ll–”

“Goddamnit, Eve, will you just stay!?”

Villanelle’s outburst comes us a surprise to both of them. The air between them goes silent for several moments, charged and awkward until finally –

“Oh,” Eve breathes. Her throat is tight, and she can’t say any more. She meets Villanelle’s eyes, searching, waiting.

And God, is she beautiful.

Villanelle sighs inwardly. “I don’t want to talk about it. To anyone, so don’t take it personally. But it’d be nice if you turned your brain off for two seconds and just…” That’s where she stops.

“Just what?” Eve asks her gently.

Villanelle’s glassy eyes lock on hers again, tear right into her soul. “You _know_ what,” Villanelle says, somewhat incredulously, tears threatening to burst free once more.

Eve’s eyes widen a little. She does know, of course she does. But she also knows that sex isn’t what Villanelle needs right now. Villanelle, right now, needs what she’s always needed, what she’s been missing all this time – someone to care about her.

With this thought in mind, Eve slips out of her jacket, letting it pool to the floor around her feet. She then unbuttons a few of the top buttons on her blouse and kicks her shoes off before climbing onto the bed and over Villanelle, who has shifted to lie on her back.

Noticing how Villanelle refuses to look at her now, Eve simply stares at her. She tucks a few strands of blonde hair behind one ear and leans down, kissing her lips once, twice, before doing something she’s never done. Entwining their fingers, she presses her mouth to Villanelle’s forehead, squeezing her hand softly.

Villanelle sighs underneath her, pushing Eve away by the neck with her free hand. “This isn’t what I want and you know it,” she hisses up at her darkly.

Eve nods, a soft smile on her lips. “I know. But it’s what you need. So stop fighting me.” She kisses her. “Let me in.” She kisses her cheeks and her chin. “Let me see the real you.” She kisses her jaw. “Let me help you, Oksana.”

“I’m not–”

“Don’t argue with me.” Eve kisses each of her eyelids then before moving back up to her forehead and kissing the same spot there, over and over again. “I just want to help. Please let me.”

Something inside of Villanelle breaks then, and Eve feels the exact moment that it happens. Villanelle’s whole body shakes, a sob rips from her throat, and suddenly she is gripping onto Eve for dear life, as if she’d float away if she were to let go.

Eve hugs her back, lets her sob into her neck and her hair, lets her burrow herself in so close she almost disappears. She slides in behind her on the bed and holds her close, kisses her shoulder and the back of her neck as she cries into the pillow, clutching at Eve’s hands this time.

Eve hushes her gently. “It’s okay,” she whispers into her ear. “Everything’s okay.”

“Eve,” Villanelle chokes out, arching her back to lean further into her touch. “Eve, make it stop.”

“Make what stop?”

“This hole inside my heart,” Villanelle replies hoarsely, her voice cracking. “This horrible, disgusting rawness I feel whenever I…just make it stop.”

Eve feels her heart break, and she kisses Villanelle’s cheek before burying her face in her neck. “I’ve got you,” she promises her, as resolutely as she can. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re with me, okay? Always.”

Villanelle’s whole body tenses and releases all at once, and she grabs the back of Eve’s head to pull her into a deep, side-ways kiss. Eve kisses her back, gently caressing her stomach through her shirt. When she pulls back, she rests her forehead against Villanelle’s.

“Always,” she whispers again.

A while later, when the tears and the trembling has stopped, and all there is is gentle silence, Villanelle shifts, turning to face Eve. With their noses touching and their arms slung over each other’s waists, a small smile finally makes it way across Villanelle’s lips. This prompts Eve to smile back, and move a strand of hair back from Villanelle’s beautiful face, out of her weary grey eyes.

Suddenly those eyes grow awkward and warm.

“Eve?”

“Mmm?”

“I will not eat microwave food.”

It’s so utterly Villanelle that Eve can’t help but laugh.

“Take-out it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still @a_stankova on Twitter - come say hi! :)


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